


Radiohusk Fake Dating AU

by Calliecature



Category: Hazbin Hotel
Genre: But someone unfortunately has thanatophobia for someone else, Human AU, Human!Alastor, Human!Husk - Freeform, M/M, RadioHusk, Someone has a huge squish on someone, Someone wants a queerplatonic relationship, T for swearing, fake dating au, platonic crush, plush, qpr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliecature/pseuds/Calliecature
Summary: His weird neighbor and probable best friend wanted to not-date date him like some cheesy romcom. Fuck it, he was too old for this shit.
Relationships: Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 221





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the many AUs in the radiohusk server.

Husk couldn’t decide if he was too drunk or too sober for this shit.

He opted to take another swig of the bottle. 

“Let me get this straight,” he huffed, wiping his mouth. “You want me to pretend to be your… partner?” He refused to use the word “boyfriend”. It sounded so juvenile when he was already an old man for crying out loud. 

“Yes,” was Alastor’s blithe reply across his kitchen table.

Husk glared at him long enough to let the silence stretch between them. In the hopes that Alastor would take the time to reflect on the fact that he was a full grayhead in his 70s and Alastor was a motherfucking babyface in his 30s. 

He might as well hope for world peace.

“I’m old enough to date your mothe-” his retort was cut short by his meat cleaver whizzing past his ear.

Alastor’s grin became sharper, daring him to finish the notion. Husk threw up his hands with a roll of his eyes. “Calm the fuck down, Al. It’s just a point,” he muttered, turning around to pull the butcher knife embedded deep into his wall. His nose wrinkled as he studied the blade. “Now I got to sharpen it all over again, jerk.”

Alastor was… the odd friendship that he had struck with. Husk had bought a house that nobody wanted for some reason, which meant peace and quiet to his ears. Unfortunately, it came with a weirdo for a neighbor who had a grin practically carved into his face. Alastor makes for a good drinking buddy, as well as a gambling buddy when Husk wants to hit the town for a good time. 

How and why Alastor got along with an old grump like him, Husk would never know.

Alastor, Husk would grudgingly admit only inside his head, was his friend. Stitching the guy’s arm at three in the morning, no questions asked, could do that. 

He wondered why he never batted an eye at his neighbor’s… eccentricities. Husk simply concluded that they both need professional help and moved on with his life. 

Now Alastor wanted to not-date date him. Fuck, he was too old for this.

Alastor shrugged, leaning back on his chair and folding his legs as though he didn’t commit almost-homicide. “It’s just one party, my dear. And several more that I’d be attending.”

Husk scowled. That was Alastor-speak for “indefinitely”. He angled his cleaver against the whetstone and began to run its blade on it. “Why do you have this batshit idea again?”

Alastor laughed, a hand on his chest. “Husker! Why all these questions?” Before Husk could snap at the prissy twink, Alastor draped his legs over the armrest of his chair and leaned back on the other. Fucker could never sit on a chair properly.

“Too many colleagues nagging me-” he changed his voice, neck cracking as he tilted his head, his expression not matching the emotion of his words, “-when are you going to introduce us to your better half?”

Husk wrinkled his nose, doubtful that Alastor had shown this side of himself to anyone else. He hated it when Alastor would do abrupt voice acting. It made it feel like there were other people in the room. 

He scowled at Alastor through the reflection on the cleaver. “Aaaand you told them you have a “better half” before because….?”

Alastor grinned as he stood up. “Husker dear, don’t make me bump gums!” He leaned a hand on the table as he reached and combed through Husk’s gray hair like he was some kind of a cat. “It’s the only socially acceptable excuse nowadays when one needs to go home early.”

Husk raised a brow. He had rarely seen Alastor go home early. He knew because he’d spend nights smoking outside his window post-nightmare and nursing a beer just to see his car driving into the garage.

He had some speculations when news of missing people sprung up in the surrounding towns. Speculations which he would rather not delve into.

He shook off the long fingers combing through his long-ish strands (Husk kept it long because anything shorter reminded him of military buzz cuts). He pointed the now sharpened cleaver at Alastor. “Alright, why the fuck are you asking me then?”

Alastor brightened as he scooted the chair next to his. “Simple! You’re so old, you’re never going to proposition me.”

Husk just stared at him. The gall of this motherfucker! He tempered back the urge to throw the cleaver at his direction just to wipe that grin off his mug. 

“And you’re my best friend,” was Alastor’s flippant continuation as he leaned his head on Husk’s shoulder and nuzzled him like an affectionate cat. He draped an arm around his shoulders to bring the old man closer. 

Husk had long ago stopped asking questions to the universe. Then Alastor came along and made the remains of his shrivelled heart feel infuriating emotions he had long ago drowned in alcohol.

Alastor pulled away to gesture at Husk’s physique. “And you look like you can kill a man with your bare hands, my dear!” His hands smoothed over his broad shoulders. Alastor gave his small beer belly a pat and Husk swatted it away with a breath of a hiss. “Why, that would be my ticket to ward off those weird, pesky colleagues of mine!”

“Weird and pesky?” Husk questioned. That was rich coming from Mr. Grand Piano Grin who’d always drop by for the most inane reasons. 

Alastor’s eye twitched beneath his glasses despite the grin. “Frisky.”

Husk sighed. Now a part of him wanted to go just to give those morons a message. He wasn’t blind. Alastor was handsome. But with his sexual repulsion and disinterest in romance, it gave him an element of unattainability that drove his admirers even wilder.

“Not my problem,” Husk snapped, pushing the chair that Alastor was on so that he could dump the fucker outside his doorway. An easy feat for an old veteran who had to do all the work around his home and when the one being pushed was a wiry twig of a man.

Alastor rested his arms on the backrest, looking up to him with an accommodating grin. The fucking charmer. “Husker, would it be sweeter if I mention the party has bottomless booze?”

Husk hated that he stopped. He didn’t know when did Alastor got the read on him. Husk wasn’t the type who doesn’t care. He was the type who doesn’t _want_ to care. But now, Alastor was giving him a way in while maintaining Husk’s status quo.

He raised his brow. _Go on._

Alastor leaned closer, back arching to fully look up to Husk’s tall height. “And in every ‘date’ we’ll be going to, you know I’ll be accommodating my man,” he added with a hooded, triumphant grin that was almost come-hither.

Husk scoffed. Alastor was lucky Husk knew him well. A grin like that would’ve given others the wrong idea. 

“So basically you want me to be your contractual sugar baby,” Husk dryly said. “Are you some kind of a gerbil?”

Alasto tilted his head with a puzzled grin. “A what?”

“Nevermind,” he hastily said. “Last question, what’s your relationship with your father?”

Alastor sniffed with a wave of his hand. “Never have one and I never bothered. Maman is enough.”

“Good.” Because Husk tended to attract a deprived sort of youngsters that he had no energy to unpack. In a single movement, he opened his door and slid Alastor out of the chair instead of unceremoniously dumping him out.

“Pick me up at eight then, asshole,” he said before slamming the door close.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s no need to pretend in here,” Husk muttered, not bothering to elaborate what he meant. 
> 
> Lately, Alastor was taking a lot more liberties in their fake dating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to flesh out this story more. Sit back, relax and enjoy.

Much to Husk’s surprise, Alastor was able to pull off the whole “partner” thing well.

Husk was just planning to go to one damn party, wait for Alastor to show everyone that his squeeze does exist then help himself with the booze. He had no plan of making an effort because 1.) Alastor didn’t like being touched and 2.) Who were they really fooling? The first question they’d probably ask was, “Is that your father?”

But Alastor had no qualms clinging to his arm like a goddamn squirrel to a tree. Or talking on and on to the other guests while resting his elbows on Husk’s shoulders from wherever the fuck Husk would be sitting. Or simply leaning his head on Husk’s shoulder for a rare quiet moment when they sat together. Or fussing over Husk’s coat like a damn spouse before they would leave a party. 

Husk should’ve known. Alastor had always felt pretty comfortable with him. Like an old fur coat. Probably.

But today, Alastor was taking a lot more liberties than usual.

“Alastor...” he began to say as the man unbuttoned his coat. Without further ado, Alastor slipped inside the coat Husk was wearing and hugged the lapels close so that only his head was visible. He leaned back at Husk for better contact, humming contentedly. 

Catching the eye of one of his colleagues, Alastor grinned. “He’s warm in winter,” was his simple explanation.

Now Husk felt like an actual fur coat. “How (the fuck) are we going to walk, _dearie_?” he asked, looking down at the grinny fucker that took residence in his best coat like a hibernating marmot. 

But Alastor’s colleagues were eating it up like stray cats on tuna. “Aaaaws” and whistles ensued as they walked on to give the happy couple a few moments of “alone time”. 

Husk scowled down at the guy who was too busy rubbing the back of his head on Husk’s chest, his auburn hair tickling Husk’s chin. “You’re enjoying yourself a little too well.”

Alastor didn’t bother to open his eyes. Even smiling wider at the rumbling of Husk’s chest when he had spoken. “You feel safe,” he simply said.

And goddamn his poor heart. Wasn’t that enough to make Husk stand there until the end of time as long as Alastor needed?

He was getting too soft on this lunatic.

* * *

Seriously, he was getting too soft.

Drinking night. One of the days in the week where he and Alastor would just stay at home and drink, talking about nothing, everything and anything. Or rather, it was Alastor who did most of the talking. Husk was content to simply listen and grunt at appropriate times here and there.

“You’ve almost been everywhere, Husker,” Alastor had mentioned one time, probably fascinated as someone who had lived in New Orleans their whole life. 

Husk simply shrugged. His family were immigrants. He had grown up with other immigrants from other countries, working alongside them with jobs that citizens didn’t want to do. As a child, it was easy to pick up on languages like a sponge and learn their stories that they have carried with them. 

Culture shock was not his biggest problem when he had to serve abroad as some bum with no proper education.

“Everywhere,” he agreed. “Just not the best places of everywhere.”

Sometimes he would talk. It was probably one of the actual times the jackass has the capability to listen.

One could say drinking night was their ritual. There were now in the lull of their conversation where Alastor would be content to lean on Husk’s side and be humming a jingle. 

But that wasn’t what the asshole was doing right now.

Husk scowled as the man knelt with either one of his knees almost touching Husk’s thighs. 

“What’re you doing?” he asked. Alastor rested his hands on the sofa’s backrest behind Husk and just stared at him with that grin that had unnerved people. 

With eyes that he dare describe as… fond?

He was close. But not touching. Like how Alastor would sometimes prefer.

But he could never imagine Alastor fucking straddling him.

Husk should be pushing him off by now. But Alastor was so unlike other people, whatever he was up to was innocent at most.

As innocent as that maniac could be. 

Husk held up his hand -a trick he had learned to let deers know that he was harmless and let them decide if they wanted to be friendly after he had fed them oats. 

Alastor rested the side of his face on the broad palm of his hand. Husk’s jaw tensed, not expecting that closer kind of intimacy. _“You look like you can kill a man with your bare hands!”_ Alastor had said before. Husk wondered if Alastor would still nuzzle his palm with ease if he knew that Husk had.

Alastor straightened up, clasping the raised hand as he combed through Husk’s gray hair with the other

“There’s no need to pretend in here,” Husk muttered, not bothering to elaborate what he meant. 

Alastor had been taking a lot of liberties lately with their whole fake partner thing that Husk had brushed off as being his usual entitled brat handsiness. But this...

He knew damn well Alastor gave zero fucks about courtship and fucking. But if he wanted this to be anything closer, anything authentic, Alastor should be smart enough to know he’d just be dealt a bad hand. 

Death was the only thing that was waiting for a geezer like him and Husk had learned far too many times what it was like to lose someone. Slowly, from wasting away. Abruptly, from a tiny artery getting clogged. Or taking a firearm’s barrel by the mouth.

Alastor didn’t need to learn that. At least not from him.

“Al-” His mind stopped functioning altogether when Alastor gently bumped their foreheads together. Their noses brushed. Alastor sighed, letting their breaths mix. 

This was bad. And god dammit, Alastor was making it harder. His poor heart was thundering under the jackass' mercy. 

He was too old to deal with whatever shit Alastor wanted from him that would just end too soon and painfully so in Alastor’s end.

“You know what? You’re drunk,” he grumbled, pushing him off with his hand that Alastor was holding. He held up his other hand, letting him know this was the part where he’d carry the tipsy radio host to his room and then show himself out of the house.

"Maybe," Alastor giggled, resting his forehead against his again, “Don’t throw out your back, dearie.” 

Husk snorted. Alastor never regarded the frailty of his old age after the second time that he had put him to bed. But as far as Husk was concerned, Alastor felt lighter than a watermelon.

Alastor let him scoop him up and be carried upstairs as his head rested on Husk’s shoulder. Husk looked ahead, refusing to decipher the intensity of his strained smile. Or the air that felt thick of the unsaid.

Damnit, he felt so small in his arms (even if Alastor could be considered tall by many). 

He let his feet lead to Alastor’s room. He had done it so many times due to Alastor having lesser tolerance to alcohol, he could go there with his eyes closed. 

“Husker-” Alastor began to say as he was laid down on the bed.

“Did you put the hunting vest in your car?” Husk asked as he straightened up. He had surmised that Alastor had been driving to the woods in his late night ordeals judging by the wheels on Alastor’s car. So he gave him a hunting vest to avoid being mistaken as game.

Alastor nodded, his grin now smaller. Husk looked away. Fuck damnit, Alastor should be a grinny sleepy drunk at this time. 

“Hunting season’s upon us,” he said before leaving the room.

The night air was chilly as he closed Alastor’s front door behind him. He blinked, focusing his eyes to quickly adjust to the darkness, an old habit he couldn’t let go after a year in a jungle.

What was Alastor going to say back there?

Husk shook his head. It didn’t matter. It was better off that they stay pretending.

They never talked about it after in the days that went by. 

Then one night, Alastor didn’t come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As they say, good intentions are paved to hell. Last chapter coming whenever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now in Hell, Husk confronted Alastor of the very thing that tormented him since Alastor left unexpectedly. 
> 
> “Why the fuck did you die?” he jabbed a claw in Alastor’s direction, rage simmering in the cracks of his words.

_Alastor laughed, his fingers reached to hit the laugh track that wasn’t there. “And then he- he-” Said man collapsed in a fit of giggles against Husk who looked amused for different reasons._

_Husk grunted, standing up. Alastor flopped on the sofa instead, still giggling. “I think it’s time for you to tuck off and fuck off,” his old friend said. “M’gonna carry you now.”_

_Alastor’s face slipped into a tipsy, sleepy grin, “Good ol’ Husker.” His pally never questioned his touch aversion or offered solutions like it was something to be fixed. Husk at that time just asked how he’d liked to be touched when needed._

_It was simple. Alastor was surprised he was the first to ask. But the answer to that was let him know first._

_Husk lifted him up, bridal style, grumbling. “Good ol’ Husker my ass. What am I, your dog?”_

_“Nooo~” Alastor drawled as though he was a kid playing with a mic. He slung an arm around his friend’s neck, letting his head loll against his broad shoulder. His other hand traced Husk’s grizzled mutton chop beard. “Dogs get befriended in a couple encounters.”_

_Husk simply grunted, striding up the stairs. Honestly, how was Husker so sturdy for someone who was supposed to be old?_

_“You, sir, are a cat!” Alastor quipped, still tracing the angle of his jaw. Husk tried to pull away but his finger just followed. “Hates people, needs lots of space and requires to be held hostage with food and booze until it accepts you,” he giggly hiccuped, slapping Husk’s chest at his own joke._

_Husk snorted, balancing Alastor in his arms as he opened the bedroom door. Alastor stopped pestering his face to cling both arms around his neck._

_“I got you,” Husk absentmindedly muttered, shoving the door open with his foot._

_Alastor grinned, feeling sleepy but mostly warm. “Yeah, you got me.”_

You do _, he wanted to say. Who would’ve thought that the house next door that he may or may not have jinxed would finally be resided by someone he didn’t want to go?_

_Husker’s eyes didn’t have the unassuming dullness that made people’s eyes similar to unsuspecting cattle. No, his eyes were sharp and suspicious, already capturing the grit of someone’s grain before dismissing them._

_Yet for someone who could see right through his grin, it didn’t scare off Husker. In fact, Husker didn’t care at all. Still letting Alastor be his companion in pub nights. Still rolling his eyes and flipping him off and the occasional smirk and the rarer laughter. Still not secretly moving out of the house while Alastor would be away._

_How and why Husker stayed, he would never know._

_His back finally hit the bed when Husker lowered him down. His hazy vision swam and his loose limbs decided to lock around Husker’s neck as his friend was about to straighten up._

_Warm, sleepy happiness was trying to drag him to slumber. But Alastor fixed his blurring gaze to those amber eyes just to share something very important._

_“I got you.”_

_Thick grey brows scowled before Husker breathed out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, you do. Now let go of me, you drunk bastard,” he said, unlocking Alastor’s noodle arms off him._

_Alastor grinned before closing his eyes. Transmission sent._

_But was it really received?_

* * *

Somewhere in Pentagram City, the Radio Demon chuckled to himself, mind reminiscing of those golden times he never expected to have while alive. It had been two years since he died. Violently, at that. When he was accidentally but critically shot and the hunter came and finished the job to avoid lawsuits and hospital bills.

Of all the ways to go.

He looked out over the highest corporate building of Hell. Being on the top reminded him so much of the stock market crash in 1929. So many rattled investors jumping to their deaths, they looked like shot birds in suits. 

He closed his eyes, feeling radio waves dilate and waver around him. Deer ears flicked at the snatches of conversations unsuspectingly captured by every device with a radio receiver. His grin turned sneery at the thought of the tacky monstrosity Vox had for a TV station. He didn’t give a whit if that was a show of power or an actual necessity. Because unlike him, Alastor was his own source of power. 

But he digressed. Moments like these, when he was above the hullabaloo of the sinners, with nothing but the lull of silence to accompany him, reminded him of his dear friend and their drinking nights that felt like a second home. His grin relaxed, wondering how he was faring. Knowing Husker, he’d probably drink himself to an actual death before anyone could cart him off to a booze-forbidden nursing home. 

He leaned on his mic stand, remembering the haunted look in Husker’s eyes whenever his walls would slip. Alastor had always suspected he had done some horrible things that he had never forgiven himself for. Perhaps, he never would. Knowing Husker’s keen judgement of character, he would probably be right to do so. 

But Husker being in hell would go against Hell’s grand design of making sure every sinner was miserable. Because a hell with his friend in it wasn’t so bad for Alastor at all. 

He narrowed his eyes as his grin widened, daring Hell itself to keep him from what he wanted.

Alastor would give time ten years before he’d see who would win.

His eyes moved to the side, hearing an almost silent flutter of wings. The eye of his mic stand narrowed as his claws drummed against its steel. His shadow grinned in the darkness, anticipating the kill.

“Alastor?”

His grin stiffened, back still turned from the intruder. Sound was his strength. But... did he hear it right?.A scratchy smoker’s voice, rough and disbelieving.

The steps that neared sounded soft. Through the eyes of his shadow minions, he could see wings, a tail and pointy ears. He frowned.

“Alastor, is that you?” 

He finally turned, refusing to believe. It was still too early for someone of his friend’s health. “Husker?” 

The demon in front of him looked far from the Husker he knew. A cat. With wings. With a heart-predominant gambling motiff. Nothing in his form suggested he died from a traumatizing death. Good. 

The only thing that looked like Husker was his eyes. More orange than brown. But still as sharp and suspicious as ever.

He held up his hand -no, paw, with a heart-shaped pad, much to Alastor’s delight- and the compass sigil on it dissipated.

Husker scowled with long feather brows and Alastor’s heart soared at its familiarity where thick grey brows should be. 

“Don’t Husker me, you son of a bitch,” he growled, coming closer.

His grin diminished a little. “What-”

Husker pointed a claw at him. “I have so many fucking things to say to you, I don’t know where the fuck to start!” He looked _up_ at Alastor. “Damnit, when did you get so tall?”

Alastor’s grin widened. Genuinely. He had never realized how much he had missed the ranting old man in front of him until he was right there before him, as prickly as ever. 

Husker didn’t seem to share the sentiment, judging by the glowing cat eyes.

“First of all, I know you have something to do with those goddamn freaks attacking me in the middle of the night!” he spat, pointing at where the compass sigil had been. “Those fuckers did something on my hand and I never knew what the fuck for until I fell here in this hellhole! Every time I would look at that hoodoo thing, it brings you up in my head!”

“Oh, they’re called I.M.P.s,” Alastor said, waving his hand. “They can go topside so I hired them to do me a little favor, my dear.” 

Husker looked at him with his familiar “what-the-fuck” expression that was now molded into his kitty-cat face as if Alastor had somehow missed a point. 

“What’s with the look, minou?” Alastor asked, “That sigil was to give you a choice if you still want us to meet in hell.”

Husk’s ears twitched before flattening against his skull, making Alastor’s hands itched to squeeze them. Somehow he got a feeling that wouldn’t be appreciated at the moment. 

“Fuck that shit! I have to find a way to survive first in this hellhole, you jackass!”

Alastor’s grin lessened as he tilted his head. “You didn’t come to me immediately?” The sigil itself was not designed to last. If Husker had delayed it any longer, it would’ve disappeared. But Alastor had been confident that Husker would follow it on his first day in Hell.

“No! I fell months ago. I have a lot of shit on my plate before I can deal with what the fuck was that thing,” Husker growled. His wings flared and Alastor got momentarily distracted by the rich details of his feather patterns. “Speaking of what-the-fucks...”

Husk straightened up and Alastor realized that he wasn’t taller than the cat. Husker had just been hunching due to the weight of his wings. Large wings that were attached to his skinny frame which looked emaciated compared to his past human physique. 

Husker’s demon form was less bulky than his past body and was more of a fluff. But it had also brought out the wildness in him.

“You...” he hissed, his claws reflected on the remaining light, twitching as if he wanted to clutch Alastor and shake him. “Why the fuck did you die?” He jabbed a claw in Alastor’s direction, rage simmering in the cracks of his words. 

His eyes briefly glanced up at Alastor’s antlers and much to Alastor's dismay, the walls came up.

“Someone mistook you for deer, you son of a bitch. Why do you think I gave you a hunting vest? Decoration?!”

Alastor’s ears and coat tails waved as Husker’s wings flapped furiously. “You were supposed to live ahead of me, asshole! I was the one who was supposed to die first!” Behind him, Husker’s tail thrashed in aggravation. Alastor’s smile became smaller at every word that sounded more and more strained.

“You have so much ahead of you and all of that fucking goddamn shit! I didn’t want you to lose anyone! And in the end… I- I-” 

Alastor’s eyes widened. The thing was, the more one would frown, the less space tears have in the eyes. And Husker was fighting a losing battle as he shook. 

“Aarrrghh!” he yelled, turning away and rubbing his forearm furiously over his face. “Forget it! Forget what I said. Just-”

Alastor, who always had his mic stand with him outside his home, immediately banished it to hug Husk from behind. 

Husker stiffened in his grip. Alastor ignored it, nuzzling the junction where his neck meets his shoulder. He felt himself melt over his form, wishing he could just stay there. Indefinitely.

“I’m sorry, my dear.” He could feel Husker’s fur quiver beneath him. “I must’ve cost you a lot of hurt.” The sleeves of his coat dampened where it caught drops running down Husker’s face.

“I-In the end, I lost you, damnit” Husker gritted, gripping his arms so hard, his claws almost cut through fabric. Alastor could only smile when Husker finally turned around in his arms, adjusting his wings to just wrap around them. His top hat was knocked off from the movement. Husker ignored it, hunched once again as he mushed his face against his chest. “Motherfucker son of a bitch, I hate you so much,” he muttered, closed fists against Alastor’s chest.

Alastor combed his claws through the top of his head. “Of course, my dear,” he soothed as Husker mumbled more swear words in several languages when he ran out in English.

They stayed there for a while. For a moment, Alastor’s shadow surfaced, trailing its claws curiously at Husk’s wings. The wings shuffled away and Husk looked up, confused.

Much to his disappointment, Husk broke out of the hug and went to sit on the building’s ledge. Alastor did the same, making the cat glance at him in surprise because Alastor could fall while Husk had wings.

“So what have you been doing this past few years?” Husk grunted.

Alastor grinned, shrugging as he dangled his legs over the perilous freefall. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the Radio Demon.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Husk dryly replied.

He scritched Husk on the chin. “I’m an Overlord, Husker.”

Those burnt orange eyes widened, before he shook his head. “Somehow, I’m not surprised. Your nightly activities must’ve paid off then.”

Alastor only murmured in agreement, not bothering to ask how his Husker knew. The man- the cat had always been perceptive. Must’ve come with age. 

They talked on as if the years apart hadn’t existed at all. Alastor leaned his head on the now thinner but fluffier shoulder. 

“Why are you here so early?” Alastor asked, trying to sound casual.

“Alcoholic poisoning.”

Alastor laughed, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulder. His claws carded through the soft fur. “I’ve always thought you were too sturdy to die.”

“...and I missed you.”

Alastor stilled. It was almost inaudible, a Demon of Sound as himself had barely heard it. 

He didn’t understand social rules much. Especially the ones pertaining to dating and all that was attached to it. But Husker seemed to be implying…

His friend stood up, picking up his top hat. His ears flat as he stared at the ground. 

“So… what the fuck now?” he asked and Alastor found it oh-so-adorable at how unsure he sounded. Almost like he was shy. His Husker really was a giant kitten inside. Hiding vulnerability with filthy language and now, giving the ball back to him. When Alastor had given him the sigil long ago to give him the choice. 

They were never going to accomplish anything with Husker always asking Alastor if he was sure he wanted this.

Alastor stepped close, putting his hands on Husk’s shoulders as he knocked their foreheads gently. He chuckled at the familiarity of it all.

“You already know what I want and I still want it.” He let their breaths mingle for a moment. “I’m willing to negotiate any addition you’d want in a relationship.” He held Husker’s paw, pressing its heart-shaped pad against his cheek. “There’s no need to pretend in here. Not anymore.”

His dear Husker’s face was priceless. The feathers of his wings around them rippled, flashing a brilliant red. Alastor made a noise of interest but Husker groaned at whatever his wings were up to. The paw on Alastor’s cheek moved to maneuver his head against his again. Husker sighed and Alastor was content to simply enjoy the intimacy, unmindful of his friend’s touch.

There was a sound of rumbling before Alastor realized it was Husker purring.

“Let’s take it slow. It’s been a while, you crazy motherfucker,” he chuckled. “Take me out properly this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand it's done. Thanks to everyone who got up to this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Husk became a magnet for people seeking paternal validation in the dating world when he hit his silver fox 50s (or should I say silver tom 50s?). He doesn't want to talk about it.


End file.
